Page 7 of The Prince's Curse

“Whether you remember it or not, Haldric, you are the prince of Ilthabard—King Roland’s only son and the rightful heir to the throne.”

“Impossible,” Haldric whispered hoarsely. “None of this makes any sense! Am I just supposed to take your word that everything I believe is wrong?”

“You don’t need to. Search your own memories and see for yourself.” He hesitated, unsure what she meant, and she sighed, leaning forward to stare at him intently. “Tell me, Haldric, what do you remember frombeforeyour time here in Gerald’s Spring? Where did you grow up? How did you and Benjin meet? Who were your parents?”

It was absurd, being questioned on the legitimacy of his own life by a woman he’d never even met. He opened his mouth to humor her, eager to prove her wrong…and froze.

No matter how desperately he scoured his memories, there was nothing there. No concrete answers to her questions. Hevividly recalled his time here in Gerald’s Spring, the past few months with Benjin crystal clear. Before that, however, everything blurred into a murky haze.

Janelle gave him a pitying look that set his teeth on edge. “You can’t answer, can you? The Grand Magus assured me as much. It’s part of the curse—it subtly nudges you away from thinking too hard about your past or the gaps in your memory so that you don’t question them.”

“But…but how? Who…?”

With sudden grim certainty, he knew what Janelle’s answer would be. Even still, his gut twisted when she said,“Benjin.That traitor mage is the one who did this to you. He kidnapped you, using the curse to keep you compliant and docile. To make you believe that this was whatyouwanted.”

“You’re wrong!” The stone walls closed in around him, the spacious quarters suddenly stifling and oppressive. “Benjin would never do that! By the Goddess, we’re inlove!He cares about me.”

Her dismissive shrug made him want to scream. “Perhaps he does. From what we know of the magic, the curse corrupted his own memories as well. He likely doesn’t remember what he did any better than you do. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re living in an illusion. Your love isn’t real.”

Haldric spun away from her, burying his face against the door.“You’rethe one lying, not Benjin. I refuse to believe that what we have isn’t real just becauseyousay so. Whatever twisted game you’re playing, leave us out of it!”

Wood and metal creaked behind him as Janelle rose. He resisted the urge to look, refusing to give her even that small victory.

Several seconds passed in silence before she sighed. When she spoke, frustration laced her tone. “This is a waste of time. So long as the curse remains in place, he won’t believe a word I say.”

What?

Haldric glanced back to see Janelle once again staring at the empty air across the room. Her last comment hadn’t sounded like it was directed at him. Was she talking to herself now?

He jumped when another voice replied from out of thin air. “On the contrary, my dear duchess. Though he’d never admit it, the boy already begins to believe. Cursed or not, Haldric was always one of my cleverest pupils. Please, allow me to try.”

Janelle made a curt gesture. Haldric gasped when a man materialized in the middle of the chamber. Handsome and well-muscled, the almost obscene amount of finery he wore stood in stark contrast to Janelle’s more austere outfit. Despite the man’s youthful face, his hair was stark white, trimmed neatly along with his beard and mustache. His eyes were a deep, enigmatic purple—likely the effect of some manner of enchantment.

Like Janelle and Fendrel, the man’s face seemed familiar, though frustration simmered when he couldn’t place from where.

“Who in the Goddess’ name areyou?”Haldric demanded.

“Grand Magus Dexil Hashture, at your service,” the man replied with a sweeping bow. “Forgive me my subterfuge, but I thought it might make things easier on you if you heard the truth from your aunt first.”

“Then you thought incorrectly. This is absurd no matter who I hear it from.”

Dexil shook his head, his ageless face grave. “I’m afraid everything she told you is the truth, my boy. You are under the effects of a powerful curse—one I believe I can break given the proper preparations and access to my equipment in Revesole. That is why we must return you and Benjin there as swiftly as possible.”

Haldric glanced at Janelle, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you told me Benjin was the one who cursed me. If that’s true, why do you need him there?”

It was Dexil who answered. “As the one responsible for casting the curse, his presence is required to break it.”

Haldric resisted the urge to defend Benjin again. What was the point when his words would fall on deaf ears? Instead, he posed another question.

“Why are you so certain this is the work of a curse?”

Dexil bowed his head, but not before Haldric caught his pained grimace. “Because you were once my pupil, Prince Haldric…as was Benjin. Before your disappearance, he was like a son to me. Yet, I cannot deny the evidence before my eyes. A stolen ritual scroll, a vanished prince, my apprentice’s unusual behavior… No, I have no doubt that Benjin is to blame.”

“Nor do I.” Janelle’s hands twitched on the table as though longing to reach once more for her axes. “The boy is guilty—of that we can be certain. And once my soldiers capture him, we’ll be able to restore your lost memories and hear his confession for ourselves.”

“There must be another explanation.” The walls pressed in tighter around him. He shoved away the faint tendrils of uncertainty beginning to thread through him. “I know Benjin as well as I know myself, and while he can be brash and impulsive, he wouldneverdo anything to hurt me.”

Janelle looked ready to argue, but Dexil held up a hand to forestall her, peering closely at Haldric. “Tell me, Your Highness, have you felt anything since coming here to the keep? A sense of déjà vu perhaps, or a faint tickle of recognition, like you’ve seen something before only to have forgotten?”

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